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During the last season of Lost, I'll admit I may have been a little unbearable. It wasn't enough to watch almost every episode as it aired so I could chat about it with other fans of the show as soon as possible. It wasn't enough to make inside jokes with other Losties in mixed company, just for the perplexed look the Others would give us while we chuckled. It wasn't even enough to give my long-suffering, non-Lost-watching friends crash courses on the history of the Island and its inhabitants, doubling back over connections that turned out to be important while their eyes glazed over. None of it was enough. I had a fever, and the only cure for it was more Lost.
The worst part about my Lost fandom was that it offered me absolutely no compassion for fans of other shows that inspired equal devotion. When people drone on and on about the merits of anything form "The Wire" to "My Little Pony: Friendship is Magic," my reaction is anything from a mildly curious bemusement to outright annoyance. It depends on how close I am to you, how frequently you go nuts for a particular thing and just how well our tastes line up, really.
It took me a little while to draw a parallel between these people and my own Lost obsession. And in doing so I've come to the realization that my zealotry might have kept other people from trying out the show. I'm sure I'm not the only one who initially recoils when someone comes on a little too strong in selling something. "My God, it's just a TV show!" is a natural response to that kind of ecstatic devotion.
That's entirely your right, I realize now. I came to this understanding after being subjected to similar treatment by fans of two shows -- one of which I've seen and enjoy, one of which I haven't and am mystified by. I'm speaking, of course, of "Doctor Who" and "My Little Pony."
I have a number of friends who are complete Who fanatics. The show is charming, quintessentially British and -- in the hands of good writers who understand what they're working with -- incredibly engaging, whimsical, silly but exciting all at once. I have a distant fondness for the old Who serials of the 60s and 70s, and I dig the millennial reboot well enough. Russell T. Davies and Steven Moffat are great writers with a wonderful eye for both the tradition of Who and the needs of the modern audience. That sweet spot makes it a really effective show. It's something written by fans, for fans, and it shows.
I haven't seen frame one of the "My Little Pony" revival, and I don't really plan on changing that. At the risk of alienating a few friends, I'm just not interested in the possibility of becoming a 'brony'. The name alone makes me want to stab people. Brony. *wince*
Don't get me wrong; I fully expect "My Little Pony" to be a surprisingly decent show. It has a fine pedigree -- the showrunners also worked on "Foster's Home for Imaginary Friends," which was one of my favorite cartoons of the past five years. There's no shame in digging something outside of your demographic, and far be it from me to say otherwise. There's just something about the evangelism that seems to be a central tenet of Bronyism that leaves me cold, though. Can I just be a casual fan of the show? Can't I watch it without being pulled into the online community that's sprouted up around it? I'm not sure I could get away with that, which is too bad.
I totally realize what a hypocrite I'm being here.'m a born and bred Lostie, and I'll continue to sing its praises until the day I die. So while I'm sitting here on my high horse bashing the Whovians and Bronies, I also have to admit that I kin with you guys. We're all passionate about something that the general populace can't really wrap its brain around. We see something as beautiful and wonderful, and it touches some deep, nameless place in our hearts in a way that very few things do. Let me say, first of all, that I'm glad you've found something that does that for you, and that you have a community of people who get it. No, really. It's an awesome feeling to be a part of a group like that.
But about the fanaticism: kindly knock it the fuck off. Here's how. :D
1. Respect your neighbor's personal pop culture space.
All of us have an investment in some aspect of pop culture. For some of us it's the culture of decades gone by, and for others it's only a small part of an increasingly fragmented community. But whatever our leanings, we only have limited bandwidth for certain obsessions. Some people just don't get that into stuff, and some others already have their obsessive personalities engaged. If you unload your fandom on someone the first time and get anything less than "Absolutely that sounds awesome, when can I see this?", rein it in. It's just fine to talk about it now and then, but chances are your fifteen-minute monologue on why the latest episode/issue/chapter is the most amazing thing you've ever seen will just make your victim's eyes glaze over. Trust me. I've done this plenty of times, and I've seen it happen. Be general in your appreciation to the uninitiated. Leave it for them to discover the story if/when they want to. If you can't do that, save your fervor for fellow fans.
2. Mind the signal-to-noise ratio.
Geeks are a notoriously spoiler-averse lot. We don't like hearing about anything that even hints about ruining a surprise for us later down the road. While a lot of the really dedicated fans are pretty good about leaving out spoilers, but sometimes they can only display their pleasure by going "You know that thing, with the stuff?" or "OMGOMGOMG" and then laughing or screaming. To the uninitiated, this'll pique our curiosity for the first time, but after that it quickly gets annoying. The impulse to live-blog reactions to mind-blowing developments is totally understandable. We want to share a great moment with our tribe, even if they're spread all over the country. But before you hit 'send', consider this: how many other people are going to get exactly what you're freaking out over? I say a good rule of thumb is if it's less than half, you might want to filter it.
3. Try not to take things personally.
When you become obsessed with something, it becomes an undeniable part of you. I've had a few things that I've identified with that strongly, and it can sting when a friend dismisses it out of hand. Don't they understand how simple entertainment can sometimes transcend pop culture and become True Art? Rejection of your particular fandom can easily feel like a rejection of your ideals and choices, and that makes you want to lash out. Before you do, it's a good idea to keep things in perspective.
I love Lost, but it has its flaws. The first part of the third season contained two of the most unfortunate creative decisions in the show's history -- and that's right when most people bailed on it. Even when the show's ultimate 'meaning' began to take shape, there was plenty of fault to find in it. I still find myself defending the finale to people who claimed they wasted six years of their lives. But though the debates can become heated and frustrating, I try pretty hard to make sure I don't take it too personally. Most people attacking the show don't know how much it means to me, or they simply don't care. And why should they? It's only a TV show -- and not a great one at that.
You have to admit that even at its best, Doctor Who is a little silly. It takes a pretty big leap of faith to buy into the premise. And don't even get me started on My Little Pony. :) But most shows that inspire legions of devotees are like that -- Firefly, Twilight, movies by Darren Aronofsky -- they're kind of polarizing. And you have to allow for that opinion, even if it's presented as fact, even if it's expressed in the most assinine way possible. One man's trash is another man's treasure.
In any given week there are dozens of hours of programming littered across hundreds of channels. And that's just TV. There are hundreds of comic books and graphic novels that come out every month, a score of movies released in theatres and DVD. There are millions of books out there, countless stories, a dazzling array of activities we could be engaged in at any one time. When you stand back to think about the sheer breadth of our experience -- even in the relatively small pocket of modern entertainment -- it's staggering. My Lost fandom, your Doctor Who fandom, this other guys My Little Pony fandom, they're all droplet in a deep, vast ocean.
It's easy to lose sight of that perspective when you have something that dominates your thinking the way fandom can. But it's essential to regain it when you step out of your fandom to deal with the rest of us. If you ever hope to get other people to see what you see in it, to step through that door with you into a fully-immersed world, you have to step out of it first and meet the rest of the world in a more consensual reality. The very best stories -- and the very best tellers of that story -- grab us from where we are and take us to some place we've never been. If any of us have any chance at all of telling each other what's so great about our respective communities, we have to start with common ground.
The worst part about my Lost fandom was that it offered me absolutely no compassion for fans of other shows that inspired equal devotion. When people drone on and on about the merits of anything form "The Wire" to "My Little Pony: Friendship is Magic," my reaction is anything from a mildly curious bemusement to outright annoyance. It depends on how close I am to you, how frequently you go nuts for a particular thing and just how well our tastes line up, really.
It took me a little while to draw a parallel between these people and my own Lost obsession. And in doing so I've come to the realization that my zealotry might have kept other people from trying out the show. I'm sure I'm not the only one who initially recoils when someone comes on a little too strong in selling something. "My God, it's just a TV show!" is a natural response to that kind of ecstatic devotion.
That's entirely your right, I realize now. I came to this understanding after being subjected to similar treatment by fans of two shows -- one of which I've seen and enjoy, one of which I haven't and am mystified by. I'm speaking, of course, of "Doctor Who" and "My Little Pony."
I have a number of friends who are complete Who fanatics. The show is charming, quintessentially British and -- in the hands of good writers who understand what they're working with -- incredibly engaging, whimsical, silly but exciting all at once. I have a distant fondness for the old Who serials of the 60s and 70s, and I dig the millennial reboot well enough. Russell T. Davies and Steven Moffat are great writers with a wonderful eye for both the tradition of Who and the needs of the modern audience. That sweet spot makes it a really effective show. It's something written by fans, for fans, and it shows.
I haven't seen frame one of the "My Little Pony" revival, and I don't really plan on changing that. At the risk of alienating a few friends, I'm just not interested in the possibility of becoming a 'brony'. The name alone makes me want to stab people. Brony. *wince*
Don't get me wrong; I fully expect "My Little Pony" to be a surprisingly decent show. It has a fine pedigree -- the showrunners also worked on "Foster's Home for Imaginary Friends," which was one of my favorite cartoons of the past five years. There's no shame in digging something outside of your demographic, and far be it from me to say otherwise. There's just something about the evangelism that seems to be a central tenet of Bronyism that leaves me cold, though. Can I just be a casual fan of the show? Can't I watch it without being pulled into the online community that's sprouted up around it? I'm not sure I could get away with that, which is too bad.
I totally realize what a hypocrite I'm being here.'m a born and bred Lostie, and I'll continue to sing its praises until the day I die. So while I'm sitting here on my high horse bashing the Whovians and Bronies, I also have to admit that I kin with you guys. We're all passionate about something that the general populace can't really wrap its brain around. We see something as beautiful and wonderful, and it touches some deep, nameless place in our hearts in a way that very few things do. Let me say, first of all, that I'm glad you've found something that does that for you, and that you have a community of people who get it. No, really. It's an awesome feeling to be a part of a group like that.
But about the fanaticism: kindly knock it the fuck off. Here's how. :D
1. Respect your neighbor's personal pop culture space.
All of us have an investment in some aspect of pop culture. For some of us it's the culture of decades gone by, and for others it's only a small part of an increasingly fragmented community. But whatever our leanings, we only have limited bandwidth for certain obsessions. Some people just don't get that into stuff, and some others already have their obsessive personalities engaged. If you unload your fandom on someone the first time and get anything less than "Absolutely that sounds awesome, when can I see this?", rein it in. It's just fine to talk about it now and then, but chances are your fifteen-minute monologue on why the latest episode/issue/chapter is the most amazing thing you've ever seen will just make your victim's eyes glaze over. Trust me. I've done this plenty of times, and I've seen it happen. Be general in your appreciation to the uninitiated. Leave it for them to discover the story if/when they want to. If you can't do that, save your fervor for fellow fans.
2. Mind the signal-to-noise ratio.
Geeks are a notoriously spoiler-averse lot. We don't like hearing about anything that even hints about ruining a surprise for us later down the road. While a lot of the really dedicated fans are pretty good about leaving out spoilers, but sometimes they can only display their pleasure by going "You know that thing, with the stuff?" or "OMGOMGOMG" and then laughing or screaming. To the uninitiated, this'll pique our curiosity for the first time, but after that it quickly gets annoying. The impulse to live-blog reactions to mind-blowing developments is totally understandable. We want to share a great moment with our tribe, even if they're spread all over the country. But before you hit 'send', consider this: how many other people are going to get exactly what you're freaking out over? I say a good rule of thumb is if it's less than half, you might want to filter it.
3. Try not to take things personally.
When you become obsessed with something, it becomes an undeniable part of you. I've had a few things that I've identified with that strongly, and it can sting when a friend dismisses it out of hand. Don't they understand how simple entertainment can sometimes transcend pop culture and become True Art? Rejection of your particular fandom can easily feel like a rejection of your ideals and choices, and that makes you want to lash out. Before you do, it's a good idea to keep things in perspective.
I love Lost, but it has its flaws. The first part of the third season contained two of the most unfortunate creative decisions in the show's history -- and that's right when most people bailed on it. Even when the show's ultimate 'meaning' began to take shape, there was plenty of fault to find in it. I still find myself defending the finale to people who claimed they wasted six years of their lives. But though the debates can become heated and frustrating, I try pretty hard to make sure I don't take it too personally. Most people attacking the show don't know how much it means to me, or they simply don't care. And why should they? It's only a TV show -- and not a great one at that.
You have to admit that even at its best, Doctor Who is a little silly. It takes a pretty big leap of faith to buy into the premise. And don't even get me started on My Little Pony. :) But most shows that inspire legions of devotees are like that -- Firefly, Twilight, movies by Darren Aronofsky -- they're kind of polarizing. And you have to allow for that opinion, even if it's presented as fact, even if it's expressed in the most assinine way possible. One man's trash is another man's treasure.
In any given week there are dozens of hours of programming littered across hundreds of channels. And that's just TV. There are hundreds of comic books and graphic novels that come out every month, a score of movies released in theatres and DVD. There are millions of books out there, countless stories, a dazzling array of activities we could be engaged in at any one time. When you stand back to think about the sheer breadth of our experience -- even in the relatively small pocket of modern entertainment -- it's staggering. My Lost fandom, your Doctor Who fandom, this other guys My Little Pony fandom, they're all droplet in a deep, vast ocean.
It's easy to lose sight of that perspective when you have something that dominates your thinking the way fandom can. But it's essential to regain it when you step out of your fandom to deal with the rest of us. If you ever hope to get other people to see what you see in it, to step through that door with you into a fully-immersed world, you have to step out of it first and meet the rest of the world in a more consensual reality. The very best stories -- and the very best tellers of that story -- grab us from where we are and take us to some place we've never been. If any of us have any chance at all of telling each other what's so great about our respective communities, we have to start with common ground.
